


Setbacks

by glitchy_battery_glitchglitchglitch



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Accidental wetting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Pants wetting, Post-Canon, college age, fear wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 07:52:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13477020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitchy_battery_glitchglitchglitch/pseuds/glitchy_battery_glitchglitchglitch
Summary: Michael looked from the screen to Jeremy, pleading inwardly that the shitty technology gods would maybe spare him just this once, and knowing from one glance at his boyfriend’s pale face and frozen posture that they would not.





	Setbacks

On Saturday Jeremy visited Michael at college. He did this most Saturdays, which was why Saturdays were Michael’s favourite day of the week. Going to different schools was hard after thirteen years of being each other's shadows, but it made weekends all the more awesome, because not only did they get to kick back like old times, but their newly separate lives led to them always having things to tell each other about. 

On this particular weekend they played Apocalypse of the Damned from start to finish, an impressive feat, even for them. They drank two liters of coke, went through two bags of Doritos and a box of pop tarts, and joked about how that counted as three square meals. Jeremy told some stories about stuff he'd done with Jenna, who went to the same school as him. Michael talked about how Liberal Arts was his ideal major, because it reflected his _very_ liberal attitude towards homework and class attendance. They watched some dumb movies, made out a little, laughed at dumb jokes, and did all the normal bro stuff, right up until Jeremy got scared and peed on Michael’s bed. 

In retrospect, it was partially Michael’s fault for pirating movies without looking at the source, and getting a version of Lego Batman that was riddled with the most prolific and obnoxiously timed advertisements known to man. Lingering PTSD on Jeremy’s part was also a factor, but when was it not? It had been so long since the Squip bullshit had gotten to Jeremy this much. In the years after the incident, Jeremy had jumped to obey commands, flown into panics that Michael often couldn't begin to understand, and had once literally and unironically cried over spilt milk, renouncing himself as a terrible person the while. It had taken him two years after high school to sort himself out to the point where college was an option. 

Even with all of that, pissing himself over a commercial for a new Keanu Reeves movie was a high-level breakdown as far as Jeremy’s breakdowns went. Not as high as the night where he'd gone out to sit in the middle of the road in front of his house until somebody called the police, but up there, and made more jarring by the fact that he'd been happy and doing well for around nine months now. 

It started with Keanu’s voice, narrating this thing about how he was back after a thousand years of sleep, and Michael not registering that it was Keanu, because that voice didn't haunt _his_ nightmares, and besides his character was a purple alien with horns. By the time that the commercial started listing off the movie’s big stars, it was too late.

Michael looked from the screen to Jeremy, pleading inwardly that the shitty technology gods would maybe spare him just this once, and knowing from one glance at his boyfriend’s pale face and frozen posture that they would not. He grabbed for the remote, switched off the TV, and turned back to Jeremy. Best not to touch him when he was like this. Best to talk to him, see if he was responding at all. 

“Jer, buddy, Jer-Bear…. he's not there,” the slightly panicked college student whispered to the more panicked one. “It was just a commercial. I turned of the TV, and he's—”

Michael stopped mid-sentence, his attention drawn suddenly from Jeremy’s unblinking eyes and the way he seemed to not even be breathing, to a soft hissing sound, and the dark stain that started at the crotch of Jeremy’s jeans, and moved to Michael’s blankets in no time. Michael jumped off the bed in time to avoid the wet patch catching him. His first instinct was to look away, but then he heard Jeremy start to hyperventilate, and realized that he would have to help. He knew Jeremy, and what his panic attacks were like. Usually he knew how to talk him down better than anybody else did. He also knew that what he was feeling had a lot more to do with worry than revulsion. He just wanted Jeremy to be okay. 

Back in high school, Jeremy had kept these humiliation sheets. Michael hadn't been mad when he found out about them, just sad. He hadn't been able to make Jeremy give them up, but he had been able to make him promise that nothing that ever happened between the two of them would make it onto those sheets, because he wanted Jeremy to be authentically who he was with him. He didn't want to worry that Jeremy would go home and try to think of ways to add his hiccupy laugh or his dorky comments to his catalogue of shame, when those were exactly the thing that Michael loved most about him. 

Piss stains on his pac-man duvet were not on the list of things that Michael found endearing about Jeremy, but that didn't change the fact that he wanted his name and his bed to stay off the humiliation sheets, if they still existed. Michael fished around for something to cover Jeremy with, and ended up grabbing a towel off the floor. There was something about Jeremy’s wet jeans that made him seem more exposed than if he'd been naked. Michael threw the towel down over Jeremy’s lap, started walking him through breathing exercises, and then started walking him through the act of listing things he could see, things he could hear, and things he could feel. 

_See_ was easy. Jeremy rattled off the Iron Man poster on Michael’s wall, the light switch, the lava lamp, Michael’s laptop, and his USB with the orange floppy-disc keychain attached. _Hear_ included somebody laughing outside the door, Michael’s breathing, his own heartbeat, and a sleepy sounding comment about how Heere was his last name. All good signs, and none of them the disembodied voice of Keanu telling him to die, which was an extra good sign. 

Asking Jeremy about what he felt turned out to be a bad idea, because it took him from making weak jokes, to being hyper aware of physical sensations. He opened his mouth, but anything he might have said got stuck in his throat. He pushed the towel a little bit off himself like he needed to verify, and then his entire face went red, and he hid his face in his hands, pulling his knees up to his chest. 

Cautiously, Michael ran his hand down Jeremy’s spine, where he knew his torture scars resided under his shirt. 

“Just to preempt what I know is coming next, I forgive you and you’re not terrible,” Michael said. 

“I'm sorry,” sobbed Jeremy. 

“Understood. All’s forgiven.” 

“I'm terrible.” 

“Nope.” 

“I—”

“Should shower,” Michael interrupted as quickly and firmly as he could, hoping the logic of the suggestion would snap Jeremy out of it. 

Jeremy stopped mid-sob. “Oh,” he said, sniffling. “That's right.” 

“I usually am.” Michael gave Jeremy a fake smile, that he hoped could be a real one soon. All he had to do was get Jeremy to clean up, strip off his bedding to be washed, and start up some Mario Cart or any other mindless game. Jeremy’s relationship with the voices in his head was intense, and the intensity of it could lead to some bad situations, but the only thing to do about them was to move forward.


End file.
